


Sweet Dreams

by lynnsaundersfanfic



Series: Meeting at Night [3]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M, highlands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-25
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-25 17:17:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3818521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynnsaundersfanfic/pseuds/lynnsaundersfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>September 1921. Could be considered number 3 in the Meeting at Night series, but was actually written first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams

Carefully, they duck into the passage beneath the towering staircase. She kisses her husband goodnight in the dark, simultaneously pulling him closer and separating his wandering hands from her person in a half-hearted attempt to maintain professional decorum. “That’s enough of that, Mr. Bates,” she says tenderly, disappointed.

He flashes a wicked, predatory grin and trails his fingers across the hollow between her collarbones, stooping to taste her there, fascinated. “We haven’t the time for anything else,” he laments.

She sighs, frustrated with their situation, and briefly considers allowing him to continue moving his lips across her neck in this addictive fashion, slowly working up her skirt with his large hands, until the sound of footfalls in the hall causes him to pull up short. He presses his fingers to her lips, listening until the house is silent once again, and they burst into laughter together.

“Come along, Mrs. Bates, it’s time to go up,” he says softly, buttoning the collar of her dress as she readjusts his tie and tucks it into place.

They walk hand-in-hand to the servant’s quarters together, their touch lingering, fingertips brushing as they separate in the hall, resigned to sleeping apart while traveling with the family. She watches as he begins to walk away, then pauses. Turning back to her, he reaches into his waistcoat pocket for a square of chocolate. He breaks the confection in two, offering one of the halves to her, fingers outstretched. She takes the gift with a nod of thanks. He places his half between his teeth, looking her in the eye as he bites down before disappearing around the corner to his room.

She lets the chocolate melt and linger in her mouth before readying for bed. In the night, she lies awake, wrestling with sleep. She can scarcely rest when he’s not with her, radiating pure heat. Without him, she tosses and turns, and her toes are cold. She curls around the pillow and presses her nose into it, but there is no comparison. They have spent long stretches of their romantic life in abstinence, separated, and she is amazed at how quickly she became dependent on sleeping with him at her side when they were reunited. Now he’s here and safe, but down the hall instead of trailing his fingers across her shoulders as she drifts to sleep. She misses their bed and how the sheets smell of him. It is not unusual for him to rise early and go about preparing for their day while she lingers in bed, blinking against his pillow.

He has driven her to distraction tonight with his solicitous touches in the quiet, darkened spaces of this unfamiliar house, and she longs to feel the full weight of his body pressing her into the mattress in her borrowed room, forbidden. An idea borne of the thought blooms, and she strives in vain to push it from her mind. What if she was caught red-handed, sneaking off to fraternize with a man while the rest of the house slept? She tries to think of the shame, the shocked whispers among rest of the staff, the scolding from Mrs. Hughes, but she can in fact only imagine the older woman giving her a knowing smile. Truly, though, it’s not as if they aren’t married. It’s not as if she hasn’t quietly helped move a body a much longer distance in the middle of the night. Surely this would be a milder transgression, and more easily accomplished at that.

Quietly, she rises from the bed and crosses to the small dresser. She takes the candle from the holder and snaps it in two, forming her alibi in case she encounters another servant in the corridor. Turning the doorknob silently, she eases out into the hall and pulls the door closed behind her. The house is quiet and still, floorboards soundless against her bare feet. Gingerly, she makes her way down the hall and, turning the corner, she collides with him in the dark, stunned. He quiets her quickly and practically shoves her into his room, looking up and down the hall before securing the door.

His voice is gravelly and low as he approaches. “Come here.” He pulls her tight against his chest and kisses her as her fingers pull at his undershirt. “What are you doing?” he asks, though it’s pretty plain he has a good idea of her intentions. His hands squeeze the rise of her buttocks through her thin nightgown.

“What were you doing?” she counters.

He smiles, easing her onto the mattress and shrugging out of his braces. She is nude beneath her nightgown, and he makes a strangled noise as she tugs it over her head and tosses it to the floor.

“Where were we earlier?”

She pulls his mouth to her breasts in response, and he takes a nipple between his lips, working his way slowly down her flushed body. Her fingers fly to her mouth, and she grits her teeth as his head moves between her legs. There is nothing fumbling or uncertain about the way he pleases her, months of hands-on practice paying off as she unravels slowly under his touch. Her release blooms quickly under the thick, flat strokes of his tongue, and she pulls at him, eager to feel him against her.

Soon, she’s sighing and shuddering beneath him, raking her nails over his shoulder blades as he curls his fingers around her thigh and hitches her leg over his hip, buried deep within her. He drives into her, a slow steady ache. She hums low, trying not to cry out with each burning stroke, turning her lips into his neck so that the others won’t stir. This is it, she thinks, this is what we were made for, creations of a primal God who rejoices when his creatures come together. Afterward, she lies trembling as his fingers trail low across her navel, almost unable to move.

When he wakes, the first intimation of dawn is smudging the horizon. She’s gone, slipped off like a thief in the night. The room is impeccably in order, his clothes hung up neatly, as if it were all a dream. He turns over, reaching for the bedside table to check his watch, when his fingers brush against something unexpected. He smiles to himself in the early morning light, remembering her quickening breath against his ear, and savors the half square of chocolate, tucked back inside its paper wrapper, waiting for him.

An end.

**Author's Note:**

> For muttluver
> 
> Prompt: chocolate


End file.
